


What is in a Name?

by Wylrin



Category: My Teacher Is an Alien - Bruce Coville
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-29 06:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14467140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wylrin/pseuds/Wylrin
Summary: I always wondered why Broxholm kept calling me "Peter" after I had assumed a new name - Krepta.





	What is in a Name?

"Peter."

I looked to my teacher. He had been my instructor in sixth grade, though I still considered him my mentor even now, even in space. _Especially_ in space, I might add. Though I longed to see them, the stars beyond were far stranger and more foreign than I could ever have imagined, and I, with my human mind, could not comprehend everything alone. That's where Hoo-Lan usually came in, but Broxholm made a point of expanding my education even further, as well. 

It has been both wonderful and terrible leaving Earth. I had left my father—and Susan—behind, instead venturing out into the black abyss filled with tiny, far away lights. And those tiny, far away lights held wonders I had yet to see. Unfortunately, I also learned of the possible impending doom of my world, as humans were seen as a terrible danger that should not be allowed to venture out into the rest of the civilized galaxy. I had been both shocked and horrified to learn of this, as my dream has always been to explore the stars. To have that possibility barred from all of humanity was terrifying. Fortunately, it seemed that my teachers—both of them—were bent on stopping such a thing from happening.

Even so, that hardly meant the rest of the alien council felt similarly. It made my stomach tighten with worry. What would happen if they decided to close off my planet from the rest of the galaxy? Or worse, blow us all up?

"Peter?"

I snapped out of my thoughts. Broxholm was looking at me worriedly, and no wonder, at had been staring off into space and had neglected to answer him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I sighed. "As alright as I can be."

He nodded. "I understand. Yours is a... stressful predicament." 

“What do you think they're going to do about Earth?” I asked, unable to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

He spread his hands. “I cannot say. You know that.” 

I sighed again. “I know. I just wish I could do something.”

“You already have,” he said. “Allowing us access to your brain was very brave of you, and may help in our cause.”

I nodded halfheartedly, still wishing I could do something _more_ , something to really help in the decision _not_ to roast my home. 

Sitting down next to me, Broxholm continued from where he had been trying to get my attention earlier. “Peter, are you feeling alright?”

I laughed. Though it wasn't really a laugh, more like a breathy exhale of pent up emotion. Shaking my head, I managed to tell him, “I don't know. _Should_ I be?”

“No, I suppose not.”

He left it at that, until he said, “Peter. You are handling this far better than I expected you would.”

“What were you expecting of me?” I asked, suddenly feeling like he had been expecting bad things of me.

He wrinkled his brow. “Peter—”

“Why do you call me that?” I demanded.

In response, he gave me a look and tugged on his nose, letting it slap back into place—his version of a sigh. “That is your name.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Everyone else here calls me Krepta. I've been going by that name now.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I suppose I should have suspected no less.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Sighing again—in his own way—he said, “Peter. Are you someone new upon coming into space?”

“What? I mean, sort of. I guess. In a way, aren't I?” I asked him. “I'm not Peter Thompson anymore. I left him behind on Earth.”

“Did you?”

“What are you getting at?” I demanded.

“I am simply asking if you've _really_ changed, because do you know what I see, Peter?”

I shook my head.

He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I see the same boy from not weeks before who longed for the stars. And now that he is here, he has shed away his old name. I am simply curious as to why.”

I shrugged beneath his hands. “It's a new life for me, so I took a new name. Is that bad?”

“Is it?”

“I'm asking _you_ that.”

“Ah, I suppose I wouldn't know,” he said. “But Peter. A name is a very important thing. It tells us who we are, and who we are not. Are you so easily going to cast your old name aside?”

I paused. “Does a name mean something more on your homeworld?”

“Yes,” he eventually admitted. “On my planet, a name is _earned_ , not given, and it means a great deal to the recipient.” 

Taking time to consider something, I asked, “What is in your name? What does it mean?”

Hesitating for a moment, he finally said, “'Pussycat.'”

I laughed. “No it does not,” I insisted.

“You're right. I think the more accurate translation is “wuss.””

I snorted. “ _Broxholm._ ”

“In all seriousness, young one, do not be so quick to throw your name away. It is something special to you and only to you. No one can take that from you. As much as humanity may not be the envy of most around here, do not let others strip your humanity from you.”

Considering his words, I told him, “I won't.”

“Good.”  



End file.
